


Touching

by HufflepunkAuthor



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, I don't know how to write sex, I skip over writing the sex scene, M/M, Michael level swearing, Small Description of Violence, i wrote this at one in the morning when I couldn't sleep until I got my idea out, small description of blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 19:55:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9287435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HufflepunkAuthor/pseuds/HufflepunkAuthor
Summary: Ryan always does stupid things for Michael and always knows where he is.  Michael always touches Ryan and is always greateful he's near by.Written from Ryan's prospective. Only dialogue written is Michael's, in exception of one line.  (I couldn't figure out a way around it.)





	

Would these people ever stop yelling? I mean really, it's just a game of football, not even anything exciting. Put just a few beers in these people and they lose there minds. Not that I personally have any experience with that, not as I sit here coddling a Diet Coke. And there they go, again. And there goes Gavin, joining in with the rest of the bar patrons, yelling at something he doesn't even understand. And now he giggling and falling over Geoff, who in turn shrugs him off to Jack. Geoff mutters about not of having enough whiskey in the world to put up with Gavin tonight. Jack is whispering to Gavin trying to calm him down, but Gavin has almost broken out into full laughs and keeps trying to touch Jack's face. It's getting loud, too loud and it's whining and roaring and painful and — Michael. 

Michael is yelling. Yelling at a person, a person that is not Gavin. I'm nearer to him before I notice I've gotten up. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you? What the fuck do you're think doing? You don't get fucking to touch me, you cunt! Fuck you! Grabbing my ass! I'd like to knock your fucking face in!” 

"Oooh, looky here boys, we got ourselves a feisty one.” 

This time I know I'm moving. Every step is made with purpose: defend Michael. No one speaks to Michael that way, he won't let them. But the look in that man's eyes when he says it, predatory. The word choice, ownership. Michael does not belong to anyone. 

There's blood on my fist. Two punches in and I've already drawn blood, it's crazy what pure adrenaline and anger can do. He's on the floor and I'm on top of him. There is lots of blood now. Someone is pulling at me and saying my name. I recognize the voice, could it be Jack? I stop my attack. I can't tell if the man is breathing, he does not deserve to be breathing. 

"Ryan, let's go man. They've call the fucking cops.” 

Michael, it's Michael. He's placed his hand on my arm, but not where someone was pulling on me. His hand is gentle, I let him guide me out and into a car. My head is swimming, maybe this is what being drunk feels like. Or maybe it feels like Michael's hand on my bare skin, I'm glad I decided against my leather jacket because of the summer heat. The car is parked and I realize that my head hurts tremendously, a concussion probably. I don't remember being hit in the head. 

But, Michael's hands are on me again and the aching of my body suddenly seems worth it. We are at Michael's house. I forgot he owned one as nice as this, we are all usually at the Fake AH Crew offices together. Sometimes I forget I'm supposed to be living in my apartment I pay rent to every month. 

It truly is a beautiful house, but obviously not lived in. It's very clean and the air is fresh and cool against my sticky skin. The coldness of the place is bringing me into the present time, I'm remembering more. Oh god, why did I do that? I didn't have to do that. Michael would have been fine, he takes care of himself. That was stupid. 

"It's okay, Ryan. Calm down, you just need to wash up.” 

I must have something out loud, I wonder if I flubbed any of my words. I'm often told I do that. Michael is guiding me again, upstairs to the master bedroom. He hasn't removed his hands, he is always touching me. He's cleaning my wounds I don't remember getting and wrapping bandages around my hands, he's still touching me. 

Michael touches me a lot, his finger graze over my back or chest when he passes me. He always passes me, even when there is a mile of other space to walk in, he always passes me. And I always do stupid things for him. I suppose it's okay, only if he never stops touching me. 

And he is touching me, he's touching his lips to mine. He's kissing me. Have I been kissing back? I think I said something again, to prompt this. I rest my hands on his hips and I'm touching him. I never touch him, I relish in his touches but I must stay away; I can't touch him. But, here I am, here we are leaning against the bathroom counter kissing. Until, we're not. We are still kissing, or trying to, because we're also walking. I assume we'll be on the bed soon, I hope we don't stop kissing. 

We don't. We, for the most part, never disconnect. And even when we did stop kissing, it was never really stoping, not when more was to come. We ended up doing far more than kissing; I suppose we had sex, though that didn't seem the correct way to put it. Michael swore less than I would have expected. 

Michael was laughing. 

I wonder what I said exactly. 

We did stop kissing eventually, but Michael is laying on me. And his warm body on top of mine was just as nice, and his soft hair in my hand was nice as I continually brushed through it. And Michael is nice and lovely to look at, his face pleasantly flushed and his arm neatly toned. Truly beautiful, his freckles and calm expression. 

"Hmmm, I love you too, Rye.” 

This time I know what I said. And he's smiling so sweetly up at me, with an innocence that wasn't his, that it made it all okay. 

"Go to sleep, Ryan, or this 'sweet boy' isn't gonna be so sweet anymore.”

What in the world could I have said?

**Author's Note:**

> I should be writing and adding a second chapter, unless school starts kicking my ass out of no where.


End file.
